A Certain Element
by msgenevieve447
Summary: They say eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves. That might be true, but sometimes they can hear something much better. (Captain Swan, with bonus Captain Cobra and Captain Cobra Swan. ) Tumblr Prompt.


Hovering lazily between sleep and reality, the rhythmic thumping wakes her easily. Blinking, Emma slowly gets her bearings. She's on her couch, a soft throw over her legs, and judging by the look of the fading sunlight peeking through the wooden blinds at the window, she's been asleep for at least an hour.

Flopping onto her back, she stretches her arms above her head, pointing her toes at the same time until she feels as though she's being pulled taut like warm taffy, her muscles gently twinging. Kicking off the throw covering her legs, she sinks back into the couch cushions, letting herself tune into the conversation taking place in the kitchen a few feet behind her.

(She'd learned the first time Henry had stayed overnight with them that the acoustics in this place were great for a concert hall, terrible for anything else.)

The thumping seems to have stopped for the moment, and it takes her a few seconds to put it all together. _Killian. Henry. Making pizzas from scratch. Right._

She's almost sorry now that she agreed to take a nap. She'd never admit it to him, but she enjoys watching Killian knead that pizza dough one-handed, his long fingers deft and sure, reminding her of all the other things he can do single-handedly. Although, seeing as Henry's joined them for dinner and is helping make the pizzas from scratch for the first time, maybe it's better if she's not in the kitchen. It's never good to drool in front of your kid.

"From what your mother has told me, I thought she and Regina had already allayed your fears on this particular subject more than once, lad."

"Yeah, they did, but sometimes I think they're just telling me that to make me feel better."

"Well, my boy, I'm a dastardly pirate who won't spare your feelings on the matter, so fire away."

Lying on the couch, Emma can't help rolling her eyes. _Step-parenting 101, pirate-style._

"Here's the thing." She thinks that if she strains, she might be able to hear Henry taking a deep breath. "Everyone in this town has magic or used to be someone else, or has fought dragons or trolls."

"Well, I can't argue with you there."

"Everyone except me, that is."

Emma's heart sinks. She might have come into the conversation half-way, but it's not hard to figure out what's being discussed.

"Ah, well, there I must disagree." She hears the scraping of a bowl being dragged across the surface of the wooden counter. "You're as much a hero as any knight or prince, Henry."

"Don't forget pirate captains."

"Indeed." Killian clears his throat self-consciously, making Emma smile. "Do you mind enlightening me as to what's made you feel as though you're not up to scratch?"

Silence, then she hears the refrigerator door open and close once again. "This morning, I heard Grandpa telling Mom that Neal made his toy truck zoom all over the loft by itself yesterday."

"Ah."

Emma sighs. She should have seen this coming. It had been something of a shock to learn that her two year-old brother was apparently showing signs of his particular family lineage, but she hadn't thought to worry about Henry's reaction. Clearly, this isn't something they tell you in the child-rearing books.

"Let me tell you something, Henry. Without your belief in Emma, very few of your family and friends would have found their happy endings." She hears Henry scoff, then Killian sigh. "Right, I think you've punished that ball of dough enough, lad, so you can put it into the bowl just like you did the first batch and cover it up."

"Okay."

"Now, be a good lad and fetch the bowl holding your first effort?"

"You're closer."

"Ah, but I'm not the one wanting sage advice now, am I?"

Emma bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing as her son moodily accepts he's been outmanoeuvred. "Definitely dastardly," Henry grumbles, his sneakers scuffing on the wooden floor. "Hey, check out the first lump of dough! It's like a basketball!"

Emma smiles at the excitement in her son's voice. He might be taller than her now, but for an instant, she hears the ten year-old who'd shown up on her doorstep all those years ago.

"See? Magic."

There's a silence, and it's not hard for Emma to picture her son's deadpan expression. "Seriously?"

"You're certainly your mother's son, aren't you?" Nor is it hard to guess that Killian might be nervously scratching behind his ear right about now. "A clumsy analogy, I agree, but I stand by it." She hears the sound of his boots crossing the kitchen, perhaps as he raids the refrigerator for pizza toppings. "Alone, the elements that constitute the dough _could_ be considered nothing special." She hears the slap of the risen ball of dough hitting the (hopefully floured) counter top, then the sound of the oven pre-heat timer going off. "But when they work together, magic indeed happens."

Henry groans. "You're not going to tell me that I'm the yeast stuff, are you?"

Killian laughs softly. "What I'm trying to tell you, my dear boy, is that magic comes in many forms, as do dragons and trolls." There's a series of sounds that might be a packet of shredded mozzarella being torn opened and a tin of marina sauce suffering the same fate, and Emma's stomach does a lazy roll of longing.

(She really hopes he's not using his hook to open those things, no matter how much it amuses Henry.)

"I don't really get what you're saying."

Once again, Henry sounds younger than his years, but this time it doesn't make her smile. The uncertainty in his voice is like a sharp knife between her ribs, but she's determined to let the conversation run its course. He's in good hands, after all.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"You've triumphed over more dangerous foes than most people in this town, lad." There's no mistaking the pride in Killian's voice, and Emma feels the hot prickle of tears behind her eyes. "Deceit and cowardice are villains in their own right, you know."

There's another silence, then her son finally answers. "Gotcha."

Emma closes her eyes against the sudden blur of tears, a lump rising in her throat. _God, just when she thinks that ridiculous pirate can't surprise her any more than he already has, he does. _She stretches a few more times then rolls onto her side, letting herself drift in and out, enjoying the simple act of doing absolutely nothing.

She listens to them as they cheerfully bicker over toppings and cheese distribution, then she hears the metal pizza trays being slid into the oven. Suddenly feeling tired of being a silent witness (and quite hungry, now that she thinks about it) she struggles into a sitting position, then gets to her feet.

Henry has just closed the oven door when she appears in their field of vision, while Killian is wiping the kitchen countertop with a dishcloth, a dishcloth he promptly slings into the sink when he catches sight of her. "You look much refreshed, love."

Before Henry heads off to set the table for dinner, she crosses the kitchen to slide her arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. He resists (he's fourteen now, that's his job) but only for a few seconds, his arm coming up to wrap around her waist and squeeze her back. "Love you, kiddo."

He flushes, ducking his head, but not before she sees his embarrassed smile. "Love you too, Mom."

"Well, that table's not going to set itself," she tells him, and he grins.

"Yes, ma'am."

He scoots out of the kitchen, and she makes her way to Killian, who is watching her with a tender longing that makes her whole body feel light, as though her feel aren't really touching the ground. He curls his arm around her, and she sees the moment he notices her reddened eyes. He opens his mouth, no doubt to ask her if she's okay, and she lifts her hand to put two fingers on his lips, a sure-fire way of stopping him from panicking. "You're a real Mr Miyagi, aren't you?"

From the dining area behind them, Henry snorts with laughter. "Good one, Mom."

Wrapping his hand around her wrist, Killian kisses her fingers, then her palm, his beard scratching pleasantly against her skin. "I have no idea who that is, love, but if he has your approval, I'm more than happy to emulate the man."

"I guess it's all good practice for the next one."

The glow in his eyes could heat the whole damned apartment. "Well, I hope to have prepared something more inspirational than a clumsy speech that uses a rising agent as its central theme by that time." He smooths his hand over the high curve of her belly, making her shiver in the best possible way. "A speech that lauds the importance of being lion-hearted, perhaps, of being valiant and brave and true to one's self."

She leans against the solid warmth of his chest, her head on his shoulder. "But what if it's a girl?"

They both know she's only teasing, and he grins. "She'll still be _yours_, Swan." Bowing his head, he kisses her, a soft, lazy touch of his mouth to hers, stopping only when he's wrung a soft sigh of pleasure from her. "I suspect nothing will prove to be more fitting."

"Good grief." Henry is standing on the other side of the island bench, looking at them with mingled affection and distaste. "Call me when the pizzas are ready, will ya?" With that, he's gone, his sneakered feet clunking on the floorboards as he heads for his games console in front of the television. A moment later, the sounds of heated intergalactic battle start to ring loudly through the air, and Killian smiles.

"Still a little spitfire," he murmurs, and she raises herself up on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his in a long, firm kiss, her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him close. When it's over, he gives her a slightly dazed smile, his tongue darting out to touch his bottom lip. "Not that I'm complaining, love, but what was that for?"

"For Henry," she says simply, and his whole face softens.

"It was my pleasure, Swan." Curling his arm around her back, he pulls her as close as her expanded waistline will allow, and she feels his lips curve into a smile against her forehead. "So. Mr Miyagi, was it?"

She buries a snicker against his shoulder, knowing he's pretty much onto her with the whole pop culture thing these days. "If you're good and eat all your pizza, maybe I'll show you the DVD after dinner."

"I just hope it's more entertaining that that Van Damme nonsense Henry forced on me last week," he mutters, releasing her temporarily to check that the oven timer has been set. "Double Impact, my arse," he adds, then turns towards the direction of the living room. "I wonder if the lad wants a soda." The fondness in his voice makes her heart clench, and before he can call out to Henry, Emma takes hold of his shirt once more, pulling his mouth back to hers.

"Soda can wait." She kisses him until they're both breathless, his hand buried in her hair and a pleasant ache blooming between her legs. There are a lot of crappy things about being pregnant, but she doesn't think she'll ever get tired of going from zero to sixty in two seconds flat, so to speak. She nudges her nose against his cheek when it's over, inhaling the familiar scent of him (faintly tinged with garlic and Italian herbs) and trying not to think of how long it might be before she can haul him off to their bedroom. "Okay, carry on, sailor."

"I believe I shall." The hand that had been buried in her hair now slides down her back to cup her ass, his long fingers delving and teasing with a precision that has her sucking in her breath, his mouth hot on her collarbone. "The soda, as you say, can wait."

She grins. _ Idiot_. "I agree."

(She always did like her pizza crispy.)


End file.
